Everyone's Best Friend
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: Sometime during an action lull in Dead Stop, Archer attempts to write Travis' eulogy... and discovers he knows almost nothing about the helmsman. G.T.A.P. fic! explained briefly in ANs rr


Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Background: This takes place during a lull in the action of 'Dead Stop'. 

AN: This is the first in what I hope will be a series of GTAP fics- **Give Travis A Personality**. I mentioned the idea in passing in 'All in the Name of God'- bet you thought I was joking, right? Not so! This AN and this fic will serve as an introduction for a movement I hope all my fellow ENT fanfic writers will join in.

The scoop: As you all know, Ensign Travis Mayweather really has little-to-no screentime on Star Trek: Enterprise. He shows up once and a while to be injured or get the ship out of a tight spot, then returns back to his little anti-gravity corner of Trek canon. **This should not be so!** GTAP is not a challenge- no winners, no deadline- but I urge you all to contribute your Travis fics under the GTAP name! Maybe we could even read each others so Travis develops consistent traits, no? Now that you're all pepped up, on with the fic!

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Everyone's Best Friend

Jonathan Archer sat at the desk in his ready room, tapping his fingers against the computer monitor. He did not look forward to his next task, although the one that followed would be even more difficult: first, he had to write the eulogy of one of his crewmembers. Then, he knew, he could procrastinate contacting the poor Ensign's parents no more. 

He wondered what the Mayweathers would think- their son, the indestructible space boomer, killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No valiant battles. No nothing, actually- there was something fishy about the entire circumstance. But that didn't make the duties ahead any less difficult.

Porthos rubbed against his leg; Archer leant down and scratched at the beagle's ears. It wasn't just that writing the eulogy was painful- of course, it always hurt to lose an officer, especially in an essentially futile occurrence- but it was actually _difficult_ as well. Archer found himself faced with the same obstacle as he had, seemingly so long ago, when Lieutenant Reed's birthday came around and no one knew what to do about it. Of course, Archer mused sadly, those were much less morbid circumstances.

But the fact remained the same: he knew nothing about Travis Mayweather. He was a good kid, born and raised up here in space… he could fly a ship with the best of them, but none of that seemed substantial enough for a commemoration of the young officer's life. 

What kind of person was he? 'Good kid' was horribly impersonal. He seemed nice enough, but there again was a vague- a meaningless- word. Travis deserved better; Archer did know that. 

Jon laughed in a humorless way; he could see himself now. "Travis was a nice, good kid. He deserves a better eulogy than this, but I couldn't think of anything…"

He caught himself. This was no time for laughter, no matter how serious the laughter was. 

Archer dropped his hands from the keypads and stared at the wall for a while, trying in vain to think of something more fitting. He tried to be more upset… not sad because a crewman had died, but because Travis Mayweather had. It didn't work.

Desperate, Archer accessed the Ensign's service record. No high-level reprimands, although there was a short, amused footnote to that section which concerned an Academy professor's suit, an innocent, misused sprinkler system and a great deal of blue paint. 

Archer shook his head. Anecdotes like that were the sort of thing you have to witness for them to bear any meaning. 

From his files, Mayweather had been a fitness buff- top physical condition on all his examinations, and a healthy mental profile as well. Nothing out of the ordinary, but Archer accessed the file anyway.

The person who had conducted the mental exam- a Starfleet psychiatrist, Archer guessed, although he didn't recognize the name- hadn't written much, as though Travis had impressed her solely as unremarkable. _Respectful of authority_, she had noted. _Relaxed. Adventurous._ _Prone to self-depreciation_, whatever that meant, was also on there, but Archer figured every shrink had to put something negative. 

Now his eulogy would be much better, Archer thought ruefully. "Travis was a good kid. He never talked back to his parents, or me, and that's a good thing. He was relaxed, adventurous, but depreciated himself on an occasional basis. He liked to work out, too, which is good."

Again, Jon censored himself. He'd been sitting here for over twenty minutes, wasting time, although he figured Travis wasn't in a rush to get anywhere. He forced his attention back onto the screen. The last thing listed on the 'extensive psychological exam' was as simple as the others: _Friendly._

That was true, Archer admitted. Travis was a friendly kid, almost always smiling, almost always saying one thing or another to make someone else laugh. He was an Everyone's Best Friend kind of person- that was worth mentioning, right?

Despite himself, Archer found himself back at square one. Malcolm Reed wasn't an immediately likeable person; it was easier to see why no one would know a thing about him. But it seemed horribly ironic that someone so open, so outgoing as Travis Mayweather would die, leaving barely anything appropriate to put in a eulogy. 

And just like that, Archer managed to feel sad. Indeed, 'managed' was an understatement, as a wave of confused emotions washed over him. He sat perfectly still, caught completely off-guard by the sudden torrent of grief he had stumbled into. This felt different, somehow, though, than any other time he had ever grieved in his life.

He realized with a start that it still wasn't despair over Travis's death; rather, it was despair that he- Jon- had been so slack in his duties as Captain that a Bridge officer had died and he had nothing to give in their memory. He had no personal anecdotes, no witty, heartfelt tales of the good ol' days… Archer felt his shoulders droop with the weight of guilt, and permitted himself to lean forward, exhausted, with his head in his hands. 

He would go and talk to Hoshi. She had known Travis best, most likely. Trip, too, or Doctor Phlox- maybe one of them could tell him something useful. Hell, Porthos would be better suited to write this thing than him, and Porthos was currently defending himself against a vicious, heartless sock. 

Jon lifted his head out of his hands and rubbed at his eyes until he forced himself to look back at the screen. _One thing's for sure,_ he thought. _If I could have Travis back, I'd do a few things differently. I shoulda taken the time to find out what makes- what _made_- this kid tick…_

AN: And then, of course, Travis isn't dead, blah blah blah… but Archer promised he'd find out what makes Travis tick, and thusly there is GTAP's goal as well. Go forth (stopping briefly to review ;) ) and Give Travis A Personality!!!


End file.
